


A Christmas Surprise

by hisorako



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Belle having an actual life, F/M, Jefferson mentioned briefly, Rumbelle Secret Santa 2014
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 14:45:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2815925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hisorako/pseuds/hisorako
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Decorating the "pink monstrosity" is one thing, but bedecking Mr Gold's shop? It's something completely different with its own mishaps - including a surprise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Christmas Surprise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mrgoldsdearie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrgoldsdearie/gifts).



> Made for Rumbelle Secret Santa 2014 (and my first true Rumbelle fic!)
> 
> mrgoldsdearie prompted: Trapt in a present box.

He’d known it was a bad idea from the start.

But, quite, naturally, he hadn’t bothered to stop it - and it would’ve been hard to disappoint his lovely wife. He’d never liked seeing the biting of her lip, the trembling of her shoulders, and the sheer defeat in her blue eyes. Of course, her schemes of the best intention were never truly vanquished; she was too bright for that. She’d find a way around him, and only for good reason.

Unfortunately, it’d been a very, very, very bad idea to allow Belle to decorate the shop for Christmas. They hadn’t had a similar holiday back in the Enchanted Forest, and, with all those years locked up in the asylum underneath the hospital (he still shuddered to think of how Regina had treated her), she’d never had the opportunity to celebrate. He, on the other hand, had been given plenty of chances, but there’d never been a point to it all in his opinion. To him, it’d all been useless bits and bobs, something for the more cheerful and friendly people of Storybrooke like Mary Margaret to rejoice in. Besides, it’d been counterintuitive to do so, what with his rather sinister reputation as the infamous Mr Gold to uphold.

Thus, it was upon Belle’s request that he’d - very, very, very reluctantly - agreed to allow her to purchase and hang up whatever pretty baubles she desired. At first, it was simply a tree, green and dressed up with all the tinsel and ornaments she could get her hands on, sitting in the living room. Then, it was the inside of the house. Little reindeer and penguin trinkets began to find their way onto shelves, tables, and counters. A wreath hung in the foyer, and tastefully chosen evergreen trim wound around the banisters. Next, it was the full house. Fairy lights twinkled in a multitude of colours as they traced the fan brackets and the balconies, cascading down the length of the gabled roof. Another pine-scented wreath on the door greeted the few visitors who ventured to knock on the door of what had (not entirely affectionately) been nicknamed, the “pink monstrosity”. (Though perhaps it wasn’t as much of a “blight to humanity” - in Granny’s words - anymore, if the number of photo-seekers was any indication.)

“Darling, I’ve got a certain notoriety to maintain.”

“Rumple. They’re wrong. You’re not what they say you are. I know you always say that you don’t need to prove yourself to them - but can’t you see? This is for you, too!”

“Belle, I -”

“ _Please_.”

He’d given in at that moment because, for all his rough skin (literal or not), he’d never entirely been able to refuse her. Submitting on the condition that she wouldn’t turn it into something that would be too sweet and bright for even Mary Margaret to choke down, he let her into the shop with all three boxes of decorations loaded in her arms. He’d tried to protest, warning her that it was perhaps too much. She’d silenced him with one of her serious looks, her eyebrows arched just so and her mouth firm and resolute, far from the bit lip she usually wore. “We made a deal. And Rumplestiltskin never breaks a deal.” When he’d inquired about what, if this was indeed a deal, he’d get from it all. Without breaking stride, she’d shot him a little grin, her eyes mischievous. “You’ll find out.” And, with that, he’d stood aside and let her hang up the gold (a rather fitting choice for her first Christmas as Mrs Gold, his mind thought as his lips twisted wryly) tinsel on the counter. She’d gone all out, bringing in little brightly-painted ornaments she and the children had coloured at a recent library activity. Stringing them along clotheslines that stretched the length of the shop’s ceiling, she’d laughed as she relayed some of the happenings at her workplace.

“And Grace was drawing all sorts of animals. She’s such a lovely artist, but it wouldn’t all fit on one ball, so she went ahead and made six.”

“She must’ve gotten it from Jefferson. He was always rather...creative.”

Shaking his head at their little antics, Rumple had busied himself with some of the remaining unclaimed artefacts. A particular set of rubies that would have been referred to as “pigeon-blood”’s in this world had caught his attention, and he examined them for their magical qualities. They’d come from the hands of a certain grand vizier from a far-away land known as Agrabah, and been retrieved from the mystical Cave of Wonders. Most doubted that such a treasure trove had ever really existed, but the Dark One never got fact mixed up with myth - he was, after all, part legend himself. He’d been studying the gems, hoping to find a way to draw from the power of the enormous dark tiger head that was said to both protect and be the entrance. The guardian had been more than a simple part of a tale from by-gone days; it’d once been revered as a god, and if that didn’t speak of its power and wealth, what did?

So immersed had he been in his work that he hadn’t noticed Belle’s misstep off a lower step of the ladder and her run-in with a hat of the oddest make. But it hadn’t been long before her mistake became evident; almost instantaneously, they’d found themselves together in a dark, silent place. As they’d blinked away some of the obscuring nature of the darkness and the spicy, sharp taste of strange magic, they spotted a large object of an unnatural shape. It was the only thing in the entire room, and it’d given one of them a clue as to where they’d been transported - and the other hadn’t been far behind.

“A box.” Rumple breathed the words incredulously. “We’re in a box.” Eying his wife beside him, concern etched on his face (if only she’d been able to see it), he asked, “What did you touch?”

“I-I don’t know,” Belle admitted. She hadn’t actually seen what it was - the moment she’d knocked against it, they’d been sent to this dark place. But she realised where they were, with the content of it telling her all she needed to know.  “I wasn’t able to get a close look at it.” She hated to be presumptive around Rumple, but she really did need to know one thing. “Will you be able to reverse it?”

Flicking his wrist, he shook his head as no tell-tale sparks went flying. “I’m afraid not, dear. We’ll have to wait for a bit before the spell wears thin enough for me to able to use my magic. Appearance spells affect the whole body.” Holding her close to him, he wasn’t entirely surprised to see her unafraid. What did astonish him, however, was how she’d not asked him where they were. Belle was more inquisitive than to overlook that, he knew. A nagging suspicion drove him to ask her a question of his own: “Belle...do you know where we are?”

She blushed (but he couldn’t see that in the darkness, of course). Choosing her words carefully, she said, flustered, “It was supposed to be a surprise.”

Raising his eyebrows (not that she would notice), Rumple questioned, his mind racing to process the words and hints, “What was meant to be a surprise?”

A frolicsome (for now it was her turn to play the imp) tone affected her words as she replied, her eyes (hidden from his sight) sparkling with mirth, “You’ll see.”

Some moments passed in companionable, welcome silence before he asked. “Is it a book?”

Giggling, she shook her head gleefully, and he could feel the movement. A smirk crept onto his lips.

“Art?”

Another laugh permeated the quiet.

“A tie?”

A chuckle rang out in the space.

“A...ah, another fountain pen?”

He guessed and guessed, but he never quite got it. They must’ve been more exhausted than they’d realised, for soon, they both fell asleep, their soft breaths mingling and their shapes spilling together against the outline of a teacup - one to make up for that which she’d chipped at the beginning so many long, long years ago.


End file.
